From the fire
by ngitheni
Summary: Dean refuses to believe that he was groped by an angel, then he finds himself wishing it were true


I own nothing and no one mentioned here. Please review, even if you wanna say my story sucks (hopefully not).

" Because God commanded it, because we have work for you," says Castiel, the angel of the Lord, giving no regard for Dean's personal space and making him feel smaller even though he was taller than the poor bastard the dick was possessing.

Blue. That's all he sees, all he thinks. Midnight and azure and fire and ocean blue, all kinds of blue put in one pair of orbs. Dean thinks it must be the other-worldliness that makes the eyes look the way they do, since that color is simply not made to be in a person's eyes, he thinks. He starts to get why people said eyes are the windows to the soul, or whatever. He scratches his head and decides to check on Bobby.

By the time Bobby rejoins the land of the living, most of Dean's fascination has evaporated and left only panic and a lot of uncomfortable questions. Why in the hell would God single him out because of some "work for him" totally escapes his understanding.

He always thought God was a dick who didn't care much about humanity, so being singled out and told he has some kind of divine mission doesn't do much to convince him when all the supernatural he has encountered ware liars and never benevolent, with the exception Lenore, the vampire. And he doesn't believe in angels, because if they did exist they are supposed to be helping the poor bastards stuck on earth, not be dicks.

John taught to shoot first and ask questions after, so he did –and stabbed, to be sure- but that did nothing to the 'angel' but leave holes in his flasher-wannabe getup. When he asked, he got vague answers which did nothing to clear the murky water that was starting to cloud his brain. Great. He calls Bobby, who says he's got nothing, and does his best to ignore his geek-boy brother trying to convince him that he actually was groped by a friggin' angel until Bobby says it could only have been an angel that air-lifted his ass out of the pit. And that's the last nail on the coffin.

An angel pulled him out of hell, fine, he can deal with that, but what he can't deal with is the 'heavenly' work they have for him. He doesn't like the jam he is in at all. Couldn't the Halo squad find some other who was pure of heart or something to do this job? Not a damn high school dropout.

Apparently not.

Then Castiel –angel of Thursday – tells him to show him some respect since he can throw back into the pit. Now not only were angels dicks, he has personally pissed one off too. And since Dean's life isn't hard enough, he has to go and start dreaming about blue-blue eyes, short and messy hair, and a beige trench coat. He always woke up with a start and sporting some seriously embarrassing wood that he couldn't will away no matter how hard (ha-ha, pun intended) he tried. Everything is too jumbled like some kind of paranormal jigsaw puzzle. And Sam teaming with Ruby does nothing to make him feel like he is not in bizzaro earth. The whole psychic business is creeping him out, and since God thinks he doesn't have enough on his plate, he has to worry about his baby brother, too. But since Dean talks better with his fists, he punches Sam, tries and fails to knock some sense into him. Sam tries his luck with the puppy eyes and some piss poor explanation about how he's saving people, which does not work.

"Cas said that if you don't stop what you're doing, he will. You know what that means? That means that God doesn't want you doing this." And the argument goes on until Travis called with news of a job in Carthage.

They are driving in silence when it hits him that he had nicknamed the angel. That ought to earn him big points with the big guy upstairs, equating an angel to humans. He just could not help but wonder why him. There were thousands of other hunters who were morally better candidates. Not gluttonous, lustful, ex-torturers from hell like himself with low self esteem and daddy issues. Maybe that African dude was right when he said the gods must be crazy, because his situation isn't making a lick of sense.

They solve the case, and quickly move on to the next one. Dean starts complaining about being a virgin, Sam rolls his eyes and things seem to be a bit normal.

That is, until Jaime and he are together and all he can think about are blue eyes and short, grabable hair. He tries and succeeds in not sighing out "Cas", by biting his lips when he loses control, but he still feels that he is going to hell 'because Jaime does not have chapped lips. The upside was that he was no longer a virgin.

Dean Winchester is straight. He never doubted that a day in his life, he never even got into the whole circle jerking phase when he was twelve (he never stayed in a place long enough to make friends but that's beside the point). He likes girls. Curvaceous, make-up wearing females. He ain't gay, which is why he is wondering if Castiel did something to him that may or may not have resulted in the hand print scar on his bicep.

He can't tell Bobby, who would just tell him he's an idjit and roll his eyes. Sam would give him the puppy eyes and try to convince him that he accepts Dean even if he's gay for a friggin angel. So he's stuck with cold showers and picking up drunk girls at bars when it gets to being unbearable.

Then of course Castiel, the poor ignorant fool, had to visit him in his dreams, the one place Dean thought he had complete privacy. It wouldn't be such a big deal if he had chosen any other dream except for this one. The one where a certain person with blue eyes and a trench coat was on his knees with his mouth wrapped around Dean.

"Jesus, Cas, warn a guy! And I don't appreciate your dream-walking in my head," Dean yelled, hoping to high heaven that the angel couldn't see that the person on his knees with his back to him looked exactly like him.

Awkward.

"Dean, we have to talk," Castiel answers, and tilts his head in that adorable (annoying, dammit!) way that had Dean's insides all mushy.

A change of scenery is most definitely needed and he must truly be in God's favor because he has a fishing hook in his hands at a lake somewhere. Whatever, at least he's no longer in a compromising position. And now he's blushing.

"You seem embarrassed. I am not invading your personal space am I?" owlish head tilt.

"No, no, it's nothing. You just surprised me, is all". He tries to zip up his pants, but the damn thing is stuck. God, couldn't he get a break even in his dreams?

''Perhaps you are dreaming you are sick,'' he tilts his head and gets closer to Dean "because I know that humans also redden when they are not feeling well. Is it the influenza vi-"

"What uhh… what is it you wanna talk to me about?" Dean cut the angel off. He just wants this very uncomfortable scene over.

"Lilith has broken two more seals…" Dean tries to listen but all he can hear is gruff and just cannot stop starring at the way Castiel's lips keep moving, all the shapes they make and he just wants to know if they felt as good as he has dreamt.

He thinks of how Uriel had told him that angels are sexless. Awesome. He's in heat for a junkless warrior of God. Maybe if they ever get together, they'll adopt djins and wendigoes for kids. What with a brother that could kill demons with his mind, that doesn't seem too extreme.

And of course, because Dean Winchester's life sucks, he wakes up to a trench coat-clad man towering over him with unblinking blue eyes.

"What the fuck…?" his hand instinctively reaching for the gun under the pillow when his brain starts working and he sees it's just the social reject angel that was starring at him.

What. The. Fuck?

"Do you know how creepy that is? What's your deal? Ugh." He gets out of bed and starts looking for his jeans, and finds them under the sink where he threw them last night after he couldn't handle the boner he had and had to take another cold shower. He still refuses to fully acknowledge, even to himself, the fact that he has a crush on an angel. He is not a sixteen year old girl.

So he puts that at the back of his head and does his job. He saves some people and keeps worrying about the apocalypse. His gay-for-halos predicament can take a back seat. He has a brother he has to talk sense into, demons to exorcise and bones waiting for salting and burning. The constant hardon he has when Castiel is around doesn't bother him anymore, it's just another item on the long list of why his life sucks so much. And no cold showers –in December! - would calm him down.

He'll deal with that when the Apocalypse is not so close at hand.

What never registers to him is the fact that Castiel never invades any other person's privacy, save for his, always greets him first regardless of who he's with and constantly discourages him from flirting with every single girl he tries to hit on.

~fin~


End file.
